


World Behind and Home Ahead

by Morvidra



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 22:16:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12993669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morvidra/pseuds/Morvidra
Summary: Almost fifty years after the events of The Hobbit, Thorin Oakenshield reigns over the Lonely Mountain with his Consort, Bilbo Baggins, at his side. When Bilbo hears that his young cousin Frodo is unhappy in the Shire, he decides to invite him to visit.Title fromThe Fellowship of the Ringby J.R.R. Tolkien





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [naivesilver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naivesilver/gifts).



Thorin did not know why Bilbo was staring in silence at what had seemed to be a normal letter from the Shire, but his beloved consort had been doing so for a disturbing amount of time now. 

He cleared his throat. “Is something wrong, ghivashel?”

Bilbo jumped in his seat. “Oh! No, everything is quite all right... at least, I think so.”

Thorin raised his brows in query.

“I'm a little worried about my young cousin Frodo,” Bilbo admitted at last. 

“Have I heard of him?” Thorin asked, racking his memory. Bilbo had quite a lot of relations, and Thorin had heard mention of most of them over the past fifty years. He had to admit, however, that he had not kept particularly close track of the family relationships; after all, it was not as though he was likely to meet most of them.

“Of course you have!” Bilbo said, scandalised. “He’s the son of my father's uncle’s grandson Drogo, who married my mother's sister's daughter Primula. Frodo's my first and second cousin, once removed either way.”

“I see,” Thorin answered, feeling a bit dazed.

Bilbo sighed. “Only Drogo and Primula both died – oh, it must be eight or nine years ago now – and left poor Frodo an orphan.”

“Ah yes, I recall now,” Thorin said, enlighted. “You did tell me. They… drowned, I think?”

“Yes, in a boating accident, of all things,” Bilbo sniffed. “Primula was a Brandybuck by birth, you see, and they're terribly keen on messing about in boats. Comes of living by the Brandywine River. It’s practically un-Hobbitlike!”

Thorin chuckled. “You yourself have been accused of acting in an un- Hobbitlike fashion, Bilbo,” he reminded his consort.

Bilbo sniffed. “That's quite different. My mother was noted for her adventures. I'm merely following my Tookish blood.”

“I see,” Thorin said, keeping his face quite straight.

“To return to what I was saying,” Bilbo said firmly, “Frodo has been living with his Brandybuck relations since his parents died. But I've just had a letter from my cousin Esmeralda saying that the boy isn't really happy there. Well, one can hardly blame him, rattling about in that enormous old Brandy Hall of theirs. Dozens of Hobbits live there, so he'll have had company, but none of his cousins are very close to his own age, so he doesn't really have anyone he's close to. And no siblings – although that's perhaps a blessing, considering,” he added sadly. “I wouldn't have wanted more orphans made.”

Thorin gripped Bilbo's shoulder – he hoped comfortingly.

“Ah well,” Bilbo said at last, shaking off his mood. “What's done is done, in any case. But I was thinking that perhaps... if you don't mind, that is...” He trailed off, sounding uncertain.

“You wish to invite Frodo to visit Erebor,” Thorin finished for him. He chuckled at his husband's look of surprise. “Bilbo, I have known you for half a century now. I have some idea of how you think, and you have never been one to leave a youngling in distress.”

Bilbo huffed a smile. “Well, I don't know that _distress_ is the right word to use, but yes, I would like Frodo to come and stay for a while.”

“He would be welcome,” Thorin said. “Shall I fetch a raven for you to send, inviting him to come?”

Bilbo pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Yes thank you, love.” 

“If you send it today, perhaps he can be ready to come by summer,” Thorin added. “Dís will send the usual caravan from the Blue Mountains about then; he could travel with them in perfect safety.”

“That’s just what I was thinking.” Bilbo reached for pen and ink. “I’ll write this very minute, if you’ll get that raven for me.”

*********

Frodo stood on tiptoes, wobbling as he clung to the back of the cart. He could have walked alongside, but he had wanted to see the approach to Erebor, and he knew wouldn't see anything on foot. For a young Hobbit, Frodo was quite tall, but he felt not only short but delicate next to these solidly-built folk. They were different to Hobbits, he thought, but friendly. 

The great gate of Erebor loomed ahead, distracting him from his thoughts. He hadn't realised the mountain would be so big, honestly - he'd thought the Misty Mountains had been startlingly large at first, but as they passed through them he’d come to think of them as simply larger hills. This, though... the Lonely Mountain loomed over the surrounding plains and river-flats, and was visible for miles around. 

Caught in his thoughts, Frodo was only half-aware that they were passing through a crowd, as they neared the mountain. There were a few cheers, and several dwarves shouted greetings to the caravan. And then they were at the gate, and into the mountain. Frodo became suddenly aware that he had never truly been so far from sunlight in all his life. Hobbit holes were not dug so deep beneath the earth, and not even the holes of Michel Delving were so vast. For a moment he thought he would not be able to breathe. But the cavern was so cleverly lit that after a moment, he found himself relaxing again.

“Hullo, Frodo-my-lad!” came a cheerful voice from somewhere near Frodo's right foot. Hastily he looked down, and yes - this had to be the legendary Bilbo Baggins. Quite aside from the unlikelihood of finding another Hobbit several months’ travel away from the Shire, Frodo's most notorious cousin had been living among Dwarves for more than twice the length of Frodo's lifespan, and his clothing reflected that fact. The cut of his coat was not at all Hobbitish, even though it was embroidered with flowers, and there was a hint of a mail undershirt at his throat. Looking further down, though, Frodo was relieved to see Bilbo still went barefoot.

“Hop on down now,” Bilbo continued, “and they can take those carts away and unload them. Goodness me,” he added, as Frodo obeyed his instruction, “you're quite tall already! I'll have to look up to see you before long, well, well, how time passes.” He shook his head.

“Hello, cousin Bilbo,” Frodo said uncertainly.

“Just Bilbo, if you please,” his cousin said, grasping him by the elbow and steering him through the mass of dwarves. “I don't stand much on ceremony these days, living with Dwarves as I do. Not that they don't have ceremonies, of course - why, you should have seen Thorin's coronation! Mind you, they may have had sufficient quantities of food, but they had no idea how many meals it ought to be spread over. I don’t know how they managed before I came along, really...”

He continued to natter in this fashion, which successfully distracted Frodo from his nervousness as they walked through a series of smaller chambers. The furnishings were heavier in design than Frodo was used to, but they were not noticeably larger in scale. He wondered whether all Dwarf rooms looked like, or whether these were Bilbo’s chambers and thus more Hobbitlike in their style.

“And here we are!” Bilbo announced as they came to a small oaken door. “This will be yours while you are here, Frodo-lad. I hope you like it.” 

“Thank you very much,” Frodo said politely. “I’m sure I shall like it.”

Bilbo locked his hands behind his back and bounced on his toes a couple of times. “I, ah, wasn’t quite sure what you’d have been used to, but this – well, anyway.”

Frodo suddenly realised that Bilbo was just as nervous as he was himself. Somehow, his own nervousness lessened.

“I'm sure it will be fine,” Frodo said again. He was not just referring to the room, and from the expression on Bilbo's face, his cousin was well aware of that fact.

“Well then,” was all Bilbo said. “Good. That’s good. Oh, gracious me, here I am hanging about like a cat, and keeping you nattering on your own doorstep. Shall we take a look at it?” He fumbled a key out of his pocket. “Now this is your key, Frodo,” he added, turning to Frodo and presenting him with the item in question. “I do have another for emergencies - if you were to become ill, say - but you are the only one who will enter unless you invite others in. This is your room.”

Frodo had to swallow hard against the lump in his throat. Living at Brandy Hall he had had his own room, but his cousins old and young had felt free to enter at any time, and the door had not locked. “Too young!” had been the decree when the matter had been discussed. “What if he locks himself in and forgets how to get out? He could starve to death. Not safe.” The thing that had plagued him more and more was the lack of privacy anywhere. 

And now here was Bilbo, not fifteen minutes into their acquaintance, presenting him with a place of refuge.

The room, once Frodo had opened the door, was cozy in a very Hobbit-like fashion. As he had expected, there were no windows, but there were round landscapes painted on the walls. The furniture was carved from a lighter wood than he had seen anywhere else in the mountain so far, and a soft rug covered much of the stone floor.

Frodo turned a full circle, taking it in, and then turned back to Bilbo, still waiting in the doorway.

“It's lovely,” he said truthfully, willing his voice to not crack and betray his feelings. From the kindly look in his eye Bilbo seemed to understand.

“Splendid, splendid!” His cousin rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. “Now I'll leave you to get settled in for a bit, shall I? Your luggage ought to be along shortly. I daresay they'll water the ponies and such first, but they'll get to unloading fairly soon. I'll be back in – oh, say half-an-hour, if that's all right?”

Frodo nodded, and Bilbo beamed before vanishing from the doorway. The door closed after him with a faint click.

For the first time in almost nine years, Frodo was truly alone. His bare toes sank into the carpet with every step he took into the room, and the room was so quiet he could hear the sound of his own breathing. The bed, when he sat on it, was plump with quilts.

_This is mine_ , he thought, and amazed himself by bursting into tears.

*********

A knock on the door announced the arrival of both the luggage and Bilbo after the agreed half-hour. Frodo had recovered his composure by this time, and was becoming interested to see more of the mountain.

When he opened the door, he found Bilbo chatting in an animated fashion with a cheerful-looking Dwarf who had Frodo's travel bags slung over his shoulder.

"Ah, there you are!" Bilbo greeted Frodo. "Had a bit of a rest, I hope? I always think it’s nice to have a rest after a long journey."

"Aye, not that we let you have one very often," the Dwarf said, grinning at Bilbo.

"No indeed, you did not," Bilbo huffed. "Frodo, dear boy, allow me to introduce Bofur, son of Bolgur. Bofur, this is my young cousin Frodo, son of Drogo, of the Shire."

"At your service." Bofur swept off his hat and bowed deeply.

Forod bowed back, desperately trying to remember the small amount of Dwarf etiquette he'd learned. "At yours... and... your family's?" he said uncertainly.

"That's right, lad," Bofur said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Quite right indeed," Bilbo added. "Bofur was one of the Companions of Thorin, you know – we travelled together all the way from the Shire."

"So you helped defeat the dragon!" Frodo blurted out before he thought. He felt his face go crimson as he realised what he'd said. Honestly, what would his cousin think of him, let alone Mr Bofur, who must be quite an important Dwarf...

"Well, you could say that I helped," Bofur said comfortably, seeming not to notice Frodo's blush. "But your cousin did a large part of the job there, and the old King Bard did the rest. You could say I was just along for the ride, really."

"Nonsense, Bofur," tutted Bilbo. "After all, I was only there because Gandalf had the sense to realise that the dragon would likely remember the smell of Dwarf. A Hobbit burglar was fortunately quite beyond his experience."

"Luckily for all of us," Bofur agreed. "Else you'd have been toasted where you stood."

"Incinerated, even," Bilbo said, a smile twitching at his lips.

The two laughed uproariously. Frodo looked uncertainly between them.

"Do forgive us, Frodo," Bilbo said, wiping his eyes. “An old joke, but as I get older, I sometimes feel that those are the best. But it's quite rude of us to ignore you like that.”

"Aye, and we've a quest to accomplish, and all," Bofur added. "Mind if I go in and put your bags down, Frodo?" he asked politely.

Frodo jumped out of the doorway hastily. "Oh please – that is, I can take – thank you," he finished weakly.

Bofur patted his shoulder again as he passed through the doorway. A loud thump echoed from inside the room, and then the Dwarf reappeared.

"I suppose it's too much to hope that you've put the bags on the baggage rack?" Bilbo asked wearily.

"The floor was nearer," Bofur said shrugging. He winked at Frodo.

Bilbo sighed heavily.

"A quest?" Frodo asked, suddenly recalling what Bofur had said earlier.

"In a manner of speaking," Bilbo said. "Step along now, you two: we don't want to be late."

He steered Frodo along the passage, Bofur bringing up the rear. Frodo quickly lost all hope of returning to his room unaided as they passed through a confusing array of rooms and hallways. It was nothing like a Hobbit-hole, which commonly had a single hallway with any number of rooms leading off it. This was more like one of the great Smials of his Took cousins – designed to confuse and ward off invaders.

The doors that they stopped in front of looked as though they had been designed to ward off an entire army of intruders. Giant, oaken, iron-bound – every aspect spoke of strength and security. Frodo was reminded that here in this mountain were a race of people who had more than once lost their home. It was clear that they were bound and determined that it would never happen again.

Frodo understood.

The guards at the doors sprang to attention at their approach. "My lord Consort," they said in ragged unison, bowing deeply.

"Yes, yes," Bilbo sighed resignedly. "Is he in?"

"Indeed, my lord," the left-hand guard said, bowing again. "Shall I announce you?"

"No, don't bother." Bilbo waved his hands dismissively. "It's not formal. We'll see ourselves in."

The guards bowed again, and the right-hand one tugged down on a large lever. A great sound of cranking metal began, although Frodo could see nothing to produce it at first; then, slowly, the doors began to open inward.

"Gears and hydraulics," Bofur said in his ear. “Wonderful piece of machinery, that is.”

"Like a large clock, I believe," Bilbo added.

Bofur's face screwed up momentarily. "Only in a manner of speaking, y'see-"

"The doors are open," Bilbo said hurriedly, and ushered them forward.

Frodo stopped just inside the threshold. He could feel his mouth was hanging slightly open, but for once he didn't care. After all, he had never before set foot in an actual throne room, and only now did he truly understand why they went by that name. The great carven throne loomed over everything. There was no other furniture, and the design of the room was such that no matter where he looked, his gaze was drawn inescapably to the throne at the far end... and to the Dwarf who sat in it.

This, he knew, must be the great Thorin Oakenshield. This was the Dwarf who, with only thirteen Companions, had crossed half of Middle-Earth to reclaim a treasure and a kingdom. He had fought in the Battle of Five Armies outside the gates of Erebor. He had taken a Hobbit as his Consort.

He was actually smaller than Frodo had imagined – not surprising, as Frodo's imagination had conjured up something akin to the engraving of Beren One-Hand in his childhood wonder-book. Thorin's hair cascaded in a positive riot of white braids, and his beard flowed equally far down his chest. As they drew closer, Frodo could see that white gems and silver beads had been woven in with the braids, catching and reflecting light from around the room. He wore no crown, but he bore kingship like a mantle.

"Greetings to you, Frodo, son of Drogo," Thorin announced. Despite his age, his voice still rang clearly. "I bid you welcome to these halls."

Frodo heard Bilbo sigh faintly. "I said we weren't going to be formal about this, Thorin, drat you," he muttered.

"Aye, well, that’s our beloved king for you," Bofur said under his breath. "Be ready to cut him short if he starts speechifyin'."


	2. Chapter 2

Some little time later, they found themselves in the hall once more, with the doors closing behind them.

Frodo drew a deep breath for what felt like the first time in hours.

"He's a bit much, the first time you meet him," Bofur agreed, squeezing Frodo's shoulder briefly. "Doing all right there, lad?"

"Yes thank you," Frodo said. "...are the rest of the family like that?"

"Not in the slightest, thankfully," Bilbo said, taking Frodo's arm as they walked. "Thorin isn't usually quite so... er." He appeared stuck for words. "Well, he can be quite different when he isn’t being a king – publically, as it were.”

"Aye, but he's always a king," Bofur added. "You never forget that, quite. I don’t, at any rate."

"He was like a king out of the stories," Frodo said tentatively. He wasn't sure if the other two would understand, but they both nodded in agreement.

"Thorin was born in Erebor, before the dragon came," Bilbo said. "He's been the rightful king since he was... ninety-five, I think?"

"About that," Bofur agreed. “I was but a youngster myself, back then, but he’s been our king in name for almost a hundred and fifty years.”

“Yes, and the crowned king for almost fifty,” Bilbo explained to Frodo. “Next year will be the celebrations of the fifty-year anniversary of his coronation.”

“His golden anniversary,” Frodo said, impressed.

Bofur winced.

“Ah. We don’t call it that here,” Bilbo said hurriedly. “Among Hobbits, yes, but not here. Too much… history, to the word,” he said screwing his face up momentarily. “Best to just call it the half-century.”

They walked in silence for a while after that.

*********

Frodo was relieved to find that he didn’t have to be anywhere in particular for the rest of the day. Bilbo took him down to eat lunch in the kitchens, where he met Thorin’s famous cook Bombur and several of his children. Frodo approved heartily of the lunch, which met proper Hobbit standards in size and style, although Bilbo tutted over the lack of greens.  
“There’ll be some tonight, don’t you fret,” Bombur’s daughter Brilla told him, laughing. “Dad’s been cooking enough to feed an army of Hobbits!”

Bombur nodded agreement, grinning bashfully at Frodo. The cook wasn’t talkative – in fact, Frodo hadn’t heard him speak at all – but Frodo felt welcomed nonetheless.   
Through mouthfuls, Bilbo told Frodo a little about daily life in the mountain. Apparently Thorin and Bilbo lunched together when their schedules permitted, but “Thorin’s having the ambassadors for lunch today.”

Frodo took a moment to sort out the grammar of this statement, eventually coming up with a less cannibalistic result than his first thought had suggested. “That sounds quite important,” he ventured. “Where are the ambassadors from?”

“Oh, it’s just the local ones.” Bilbo waved a hand vaguely. “Dale and Mirkwood – oh, and Iron Hills I suppose, to maintain the balance. They’re all practically on our doorstep, so Thorin lunches with them every week or so. We’ll see them at dinner.”

To a young Hobbit from the Shire, the idea of having three other kingdoms on one’s doorstep was quite foreign. Bilbo seemed to divine Frodo’s thoughts. “Don’t worry, Frodo-lad. They’re not in the least intimidating. It’s… well, it’s a bit like the Shire, really. There’s the Mayor, and the Master of Buckland, and the Thain over in Tuckborough. They’re all positions of responsibility, but they each have _different _responsibilities, and so they keep in touch to make sure everything’s running smoothly and everyone knows what’s what. Do you see?”__

__“I think so,” Frodo said, after thinking it over. “Even though they’re different kingdoms, it’s the same small part of the world, and so it’s best if they work together?”  
Bombur quietly slipped a few more mushrooms on his plate, which Frodo took as agreement._ _

__“Quite right, my lad,” Bilbo said, swiping a few mushrooms himself. “Besides which, we’ve all known each other for so long they’re practically family. Well, the Iron Hills ambassador actually is family – Thorin Stonehelm, son of Dáin Ironfoot himself.” There was a short pause, while Bilbo addressed his plate. “And Lady Sigrid is the ambassador from Dale; the elder sister of King Bain,” he continued. “We first met her during the business with the dragon. A remarkably polite young woman, she was, even under very trying circumstances – I’m not at all surprised she became a diplomat.”_ _

__That was two. “And Mirkwood?” Frodo asked._ _

__Bilbo hummed. “Well, the Mirkwood ambassador changes from time to time, but the chap we have at the moment seems to be managing quite well so far. Galion is his name – formerly King Thranduil’s butler. And I must say, he’s much less trouble to have around than some Elves,” he added tartly. “Some of the previous ones… ah well, I shouldn’t be too hard on them, I suppose. It’s not as though there wasn’t provocation.”_ _

__Frodo made an encouraging noise, but it was clear that Bilbo was not going to tell him the details of whatever had happened. He’d have to remember to ask Bofur later on._ _

__“Of course, it helps that we’ve built so many bridges between the kingdoms over the last half-century,” Bilbo continued, more cheerfully. “Well, I say ‘we’, but Thorin really wasn’t much help at the beginning, dear me. Not so much building bridges as hacking them down, to be honest. But he learned, he learned. And then of course, his own nephew wedded an Elf of Mirkwood, which was probably the only way we could ever have got Thorin and the Elven-King in a room together.” He chuckled reminiscently._ _

__“Thorin’s nephew married an Elf?” Frodo could feel his eyes widening. Even Hobbits knew of the great feud between Elves and Dwarves, which stretched back to the time before the settling of the Shire. Wars had been fought between the two races, Frodo knew. For two such to have set aside their differences… “How did that happen?” he asked in honest astonishment._ _

__“Dear me.” Bilbo shook his head. “I do forget sometimes how very far away the Shire is from Erebor, for this all happened more than thirty years ago. Kíli is Thorin’s younger nephew – he has two; the older is Fíli – and during that business with the Dragon, Kíli met Tauriel, who at that time was Captain of the Mirkwood Guard. And she saved his life.”  
It sounded like a fairy story, and Frodo said as much._ _

__“Quite like a fairy tale, in fact,” Bilbo said, “because you see, she had to save his life several times, like the brave princess who must complete three impossible tasks to win the hand of the prince. She saved Kíli when he was being dragged away by Spiders, and she saved him again when he was ill with a poisoned wound, and finally she saved him when he was nearly slain by Orcs in the final battle. And Kíli, the dear boy, fell head-over-heels in love with her.”_ _

__Frodo had enjoyed hearing the story up to this point, but there was really only so much talk of ‘love-stuff’ that a twenty-year-old Hobbit could be expected to put up with. “So then they got married and lived happily ever after?” he asked in dutiful politeness._ _

__Bilbo smiled wryly. “Well, no. First Kíli had a blazing row with Thorin, because he was only seventy-seven at the time – that’s quite young: about twenty-eight, for a Hobbit,” he added. “Anyway, he stormed out of the Mountain. And the Elven-King Thranduil threw Tauriel out of his halls as well. And then they just went adventuring together through deepest Mirkwood, fighting spiders and other evil things, for years and years until both Kings finally got tired of it and let them get married officially.”_ _

__Frodo’s mouth was full, so he didn’t comment, but he rather thought fighting spiders sounded like more fun than getting married._ _

__*********_ _

__To his great disgust, Frodo found that Kíli and Tauriel were just as nauseatingly in love when he met them in person as they had sounded in the story. His seat at the banquet that evening was directly opposite the couple, and watching them was worse than having to read the courtship chapters in Cousin Esmeralda’s copy of the _Tale of Beren and Luthien_._ _

__Fortunately for Frodo, his seatmates were in total agreement with his feelings on the subject._ _

__“Thirty-five years married, and still acting like a pair of lovesick pigeons,” Fíli said, rolling his eyes. Frodo had been startled to find himself seated next to the heir to the throne of Erebor, but Fíli’s ease of manner soon put Frodo’s mind at rest. “Thank Durin they don’t live here year-round; my stomach couldn’t take the strain.” He carefully removed a crumb from his braided moustache before it could fall to the mass of his beard._ _

__“Bain and Wendela are just as bad,” said the human woman on Frodo’s other side, who was apparently the younger sister of both King Bain and the ambassador of Dale. She stood barely higher than a tall Hobbit, but reminded Frodo strongly of his Aunt Menegilda – both shared a certain force of personality despite their relatively small size. “And they’ve been married just as long. Dinners in Dale used to be a right nightmare with those two, not to mention Sigrid and her Raild.” She shuddered, theatrically._ _

__“Is that your latest excuse for dining in Erebor every chance you get?” Fíli asked, sounding amused. To Frodo, he explained: “Tilda has not spent five consecutive nights in Dale since she reached her majority, I believe.”_ _

__“Longer than that,” Tilda corrected him. Her white braids were slipping crookedly, and she shoved irritably at the pins which held them. “I began studying to be a healer when I was fifteen, after all.” She thought a moment. “Well. Not that I hadn’t been unofficially training for a few years before that.”_ _

__“Trailing after Tauriel and Oin like a duckling,” Fíli said reminiscently. “Badgering the Elven-King’s son into taking you to learn from the Rangers of Eriador... following the merchant caravans east, and south…”_ _

__“It was an unorthodox apprenticeship, I’ll grant you.” Tilda shrugged. “But what is the point of studying with only one master? How can knowledge be spread? No, I wanted to learn what I could, from as many places as I could do so, and to do that I had to travel.” She smiled at Frodo. “Just as you are travelling now, young master Baggins. Have your eyes been opened to the world?”_ _

__Frodo hastily swallowed his mouthful. “I… perhaps?” he said. The thoughts in his head were difficult to put into words, but Tilda looked genuinely interested in his answer._ _

__“I had heard of mountains, but now I have seen them, stretching to the skies, topped with cloud-like snow,” he said slowly. “I have felt my breath quicken in air grown thin and chill, as I climbed them. And I have gazed back upon the place which was my whole world until now, and I have thought: ‘how small it is, how insignificant we Hobbits must seem’._ _

__“I had read of forests, far greater than the Old Forest which borders the Shire. Now I have seen Mirkwood. I have passed under its trees, my head tilted back until my neck ached with the strain, and still I could not see the sky above them. And never before had I realised what life grows even in the darkness of the forest depths, in places where the sun barely touches. Living in the Shire, I had thought that all things needed light to truly thrive. But now I know that there is life even in the dank, damp darkness._ _

__“And this mountain of Erebor, in which we sit.” He gestured helplessly. “I could not have imagined it, even yesterday. And knowing of all these things, I begin to wonder: what else is there? What parts of the world do I not know; what marvels have I yet to experience?”_ _

__Only now did Frodo realise that a large part of the hall had grown silent during his speech. He felt his face flush as he ducked his head. “Ah – but that is only a thought,” he muttered in embarrassment._ _

__“My dear boy,” he heard Bilbo say, emotion thick in his voice._ _

__“Truly, to bear the name of Baggins must bless the bearer with a tongue of purest mithril,” Thorin said quietly. “Your fair speech does you great credit, Frodo.”_ _

__The King rose from his seat and raised his cup in the air. “My friends, I present to you Frodo Baggins, kinsman of my beloved Consort, and hence kin also to the line of Durin.”_ _

__“Stand up,” Fíli muttered to Frodo. “Otherwise he’ll keep talking.”_ _

__“Let them see you, and then we can get out of here,” Tilda added in a whisper._ _

__Frodo stood, feeling awkward and out of place. But Bilbo’s eyes were warm, and Bofur gave him an encouraging thumbs-up. Fíli and Tilda were friendly presences on either side. And even Thorin, when Frodo looked carefully at him, had a kind smile half-hidden within his beard._ _

__Their silent support washed over Frodo, and he lifted his head, standing more easily._ _

__“Thank you,” Frodo said simply. “I am glad to be here.”_ _

__*********_ _

__With slow, careful strokes, Thorin brushed out the day’s tangles from his beard. Bilbo sat behind him, and Thorin could feel him gently plucking the beads and clasps from his hair._ _

__“Frodo seems to be finding his feet,” Bilbo said, breaking the silence. “Settling in, making friends…” His voice trailed off uncertainly._ _

__“He is easy to like,” Thorin said thoughtfully. “My impression is that he is both pleasant and polite, and there is a deep intelligence that he shares with you, ghivashel.” He turned his head to smile at Bilbo._ _

__“Oh, hush now.” Bilbo darted a kiss onto his cheek. “Give me that brush; you must have finished your beard by now.”_ _

__Obediently, Thorin handed over the brush, and Bilbo began smoothing the mass of white hair._ _

__“But I do not think he would wish to remain here forever,” Thorin added._ _

__“Well, no-one suggested such a thing,” Bilbo huffed. “I merely invited him to visit. I never even mentioned anything else.”_ _

__“Not yet.” Thorin smiled. “Bilbo, your heart enlarges to take in all those for whom you care. And even the old eyes of a Dwarf can see that you care for this lad. Although you have not spoken the words as yet, I believe you wish to offer him a home here.”_ _

__Bilbo sighed, setting down the brush. “He reminds me of myself, a little,” he said quietly._ _

__Thorin’s hand found Bilbo’s and gripped it tightly._ _

__“You are most likely right,” Bilbo said eventually, sounding a little sad. “Frodo will be drawn back to the Shire eventually. But I will make him the offer, nonetheless.” He brightened a little. “Perhaps he will stay here for a while before he returns. And at the very least, he will know that there is always a home for him in Erebor.”_ _

__Thorin nodded, slowly. “You are wise, ghivashel,” he said, stroking the back of Bilbo’s hand with his thumb. “Perhaps when he is full-grown, he could live in Bag-End, and keep it aired for you.”_ _

__“That’s a good thought,” Bilbo said, sounding happier. Thorin pressed a kiss to his temple._ _

__“It is late,” he said softly, “And there will be time enough to worry about such things tomorrow.”_ _

__Bilbo rested his forehead against Thorin’s. “Yes. There is time.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> ghivashel - treasure of all treasures


End file.
